The Surprise of Being Loved
by Channel D
Summary: Events change in the episode "Witness", and Tim gets to know Erin Kendall. Can they build a life together? How uncertain is Life? May not be so much a romance as a character study...but of whom? Written for the NFA "What If?" challenge.
1. Chapter 1

**The Surprise of Being Loved**

by channelD

_written for:_ the NFA _What If?_ Challenge. The challenge states:_**Take an event that has happened at**__**any time in NCIS, and change the outcome/following events. Your challenge is to write what would happen if the canon ending was different**__._

rating: K plus

genre: Romance? Character study? Hard to classify.

summary: A major change in the events in Tim McGee's life, resulting from a different outcome to the episode Witness.

(**spoiler for _Witness_:)** _This was the episode in which still-new agent Tim works with one Erin Kendall, the only witness to an alleged crime...only to have the killer go after her, and Tim is unable to rescue her in time._

_author's note: I've used the setting of Tim's family living in North Dakota that I've used in other fics. This is not canon._

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

_There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved. It is God's finger on man's shoulder. --_ Charles Morgan

- - - - -

"I'm so glad you decided to come, Tim." Erin Kendall took his arms, smiled into his eyes, and kicked her apartment door closed behind him.

"Uh, me too." From probably any other girl, Erin's moves would seem like a come-on. But Tim McGee never got those vibes from her. She was a fresh-faced, girl-next-door type, not given to guile. (Well, not much. Everyone is, to some extent.) And he thought he was falling in love with her.

That was all wrong, of course, if he wanted to keep his sanity. Erin was a witness in a murder case. Tim knew he should maintain a professional distance. But he couldn't help it: she was sweet, cute, smart, and funny, and shared a lot of his interests. When this case was closed, he planned to ask her out…and with any luck, go out with her many times. She might turn out to be the girl of his dreams.

Tonight he was supposed to be watching her apartment from the vacant apartment across the street…on the off chance that the killer NCIS was after would try to get her, the witness. He and Erin had talked on the phone for a few minutes, and one of them…he didn't remember which…had suggested he go over there. So much friendlier than talking on a phone. And so here he was, flinching just a little at disobeying Gibbs' orders.

The living room lights were low; just one small table lamp was on in a far corner. A light poured out of a room beyond, the door to which was partially open. _She must have been talking to me on the phone in her bedroom,_ Tim thought, and both gulped and smiled a little.

"Like something to drink, Tim?" Erin said, turning toward her kitchen.

"Don't go to any trouble. But if you have a Diet Coke, or some coffee, I wouldn't say no."

"You got it," said Erin, putting aside with a sigh her thoughts of another glass of wine from the lovely bottle she'd picked up at the market. Tim McGee was a cutie…what if he didn't drink at all? _Now, self; this is only a professional meeting. After this is over, you'll probably never see him again…_

There was a rattling at the lock, and Tim stiffened. "Stay in the kitchen!" he hissed to Erin. "Someone's trying to break in!"

Tim pressed himself to the wall on the other side of the door. It was all over in seconds: The intruder was surprised by Tim, who knocked him to the floor and handcuffed him. When Tim looked up, Erin was standing over the two of them, waving a frying pan. "Uh…were you going to swing that at him, or at me?"

"That depends," Erin said, lowering it, "on how you answer this question: 'Will you go to the movies with me on Saturday?'"

"Uh…yes?" Tim asked hopefully. They both grinned, hugely, and Tim almost forgot about the intruder. Time to call Gibbs and take the guy…the apartment building manager…into custody.

When Gibbs arrived, he didn't look totally pleased. Not that he ever did. "I told you to watch things from the apartment across the street," Gibbs growled. "Technically, I should put you on report for disobeying an order." Noticing, with satisfaction, Tim's blush, he added, "But since it came out okay, I'll let you off the hook." He looked at Erin and smiled slightly. He could see where this was headed.

- - - - -

There followed a series of dates, to places fun and sometimes intellectually silly. Tim admired Erin's spirit and sense of humor. At times their minds seemed to be running on the same track.

She came 'round NCIS more often on little excuses, and the guards were soon handing her a visitor's badge just for her signature on the log, no ID needed. One said he just liked 'to see the little lady smile'.

Kate was friendly to her; Kate was a friendly person who was open to almost everyone, a a good judge of character. But a 'sisterhood' in Kate and Erin seemed to click, despite their different occupations. They took to spending Saturday mornings together, and Kate would head off when Tim would meet Erin for lunch. At one point, after Tim and Erin had been dating for about six weeks, Kate whispered to Tim, "Hold onto her, McGee. I think she's the one."

"The one what?" said Tim. He'd never been involved in so heady a relationship and found the secret language to be almost impenetrable.

Gibbs, Tony and Ducky all warmed to Erin. Almost immediately Tony stopped referring to her as "Geekette" and instead was saying "Our Erin". For awhile Tim was concerned that Tony might be trying to horn in on them, but soon accepted that he just liked her.

Only one person had trouble with the newcomer. It was so subtle that Tim did not notice it for awhile. Abby had already thrown more than one withering glance Erin's way, on her first visit to NCIS to provide information on the attacker for a sketch. On seeing Tim and Erin happily wandering off the track into other areas, Abby felt anything but loving toward the woman. Would she have felt the same toward anyone else who was making inroads on "her" Tim? Perhaps.

Abby wouldn't admit to herself that Tim could have been hers…if only she'd been willing to make a commitment. She wasn't, but she still wanted him to be unattached, and available, in case she ever changed her mind. She just might want to settle down someday. Why couldn't he see that, and wait for her?

She looked daggers at Erin whenever the woman came to NCIS, and made an excuse to leave the squad room. Oddly, Erin never gave her a sharp look in return, but rather a kind smile. Erin was intent on being on good terms with all of Tim's friends. In part, this was because she wanted to share the friendship Tim had with them. Also—and a feeling of dread came with this—she thought it might be important someday for them to be there for her and Tim.

- - - - -

They spent a lot of time talking. Tim told her all about growing up in Oklahoma and North Dakota, son to a pair of meteorologists. His kid sister, Sarah, was a junior in high school, and determined to go to college in D.C. "I think you two would like each other," he grinned, and wisely did not go farther. He didn't want to blurt out anything that might sound like a proposal.

"I'd adore meeting her," said Erin. "How great that the two of you love literature and writing! I have absolutely no talent there—only code and numbers run in my head."

Erin's background was more exotic than having a parent who chased tornadoes for a living. An only child, she'd been raised by her wealthy Uncle Jack after her parents had died when she was twelve. They'd traveled a lot, and once she was old enough for college, he'd moved to the South Pacific to become a beach comber, in his own words. "Really, he owns a couple of hotels in Tahiti," she said.

"I'd like to meet him," said Tim. "He sounds like a delightful character."

"He's the only family I have," she said, softly. "I miss not having him close by anymore. I wish I had more family."

"Family is a good thing to have," Tim agreed. "I'll be so glad when Sarah is in school here. Even if she can be trying."

"I'm sure she's delightful. Like her brother," Erin said slyly, and zoomed in for a kiss.

- - - - -

Almost five months after they'd been going out, Tim met Erin one fine May Saturday in a park. They were going to have a picnic lunch; a brief one, for Tim's team had to work that afternoon. Erin's face was a mass of pain, as if from falling asleep in the sun with no sun block on.

"What's wrong?" Tim asked, taking the cooler with sodas out of his car.

"Noth—oh, Tim; I'm pregnant!"

"Oh, boy," he said, sitting down hard. "Oh, boy."

"It might be a girl," she said feebly, and started to cry.

He drew her close. "You're not alone in this," he said. "I had a hand in it—er, well, you know what I mean. What are you planning to do?" He offered her a tissue.

"I don't know. I'm not going to abort it; I could never do that. But I don't think I can raise a child on my own. I guess I'll give it up for adoption."

Tim looked at her teary face, and reflected on all the wonderful, happy moments they'd had together these last few months. These were the types of moments he'd once hoped he'd have with Abby, but of course they'd never gotten close to this point. He didn't want this blissful happiness to end.

"There's another solution," he heard himself say. "You don't want to raise a child alone. So let's get married."

She stopped sniffling and stared at him. "Are—are you sure, Tim? Marriage is such a big step."

"So's having a baby, I'm told. Let's put the horse back before the cart and get married before our little Ignatz is born. We can shop for baby things together."

She threw her arms around him and kissed him and kissed him. He almost forgot that he was required to get into the office that afternoon.

- - - - -

They would marry in six week's time, they decided. They were upfront with everyone about the pregnancy, and were happy to find most of their friends okay with it. "It's been going on for a long time," said Gibbs. Tim's parents were ecstatic to hear that they would be grandparents.

Two weeks after the proposal, Tim and Erin took a few days off work to fly to North Dakota so that Tim's family could meet Erin. Kale and Cleo McGee welcomed their soon-to-be daughter-in-law with open arms, seeing in her the same warm friendliness that Tim had seen.

When Tim and Erin volunteered to wash the dinner dishes, his parents surveyed them from the back patio. "Nice girl," said Kale. "She'll be good for Tim."

Cleo turned a scientist's eye on the young woman, visible in the kitchen window. "Tim said they were using protection. Do you really think something 'went wrong', as Erin said?"

Kale snorted. "No, I think everything went just according to her plan. A hasty marriage may not be the best way to start out, but they do seem to love each other."

"And being loved matters a great deal. I think Tim's found his dream girl. " Cleo patted her husband's hand. "May they grow old and happy together, just like us. "

He tickled her. "Who are you calling _old_, Mrs. McGee? "

Only Sarah, age 16, didn't fall in love with Erin. Within an hour after Tim and Erin had arrived, she pulled Tim aside. "Whatever happened to that Abby you were always going on about?!" she demanded. "She sounded so cool! I was hoping you would marry _her_!"

"Abby and I split up months ago, Sarah. I told you that," Tim said, his patience straining. "She's out of the picture. I'm marrying Erin, and you'll soon be an aunt! Aren't you looking forward to that?"

"No! Babies stink. All they do is eat, poop and sleep. Give me 5-year-olds anyday. _They're_ fun."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Well, fly into Washington early for the wedding, and I'll take you around to the colleges you're interested in."

She was silent for a moment. "I've changed my mind," she said. "I don't want to go to D.C. for college."

"What?? That's all you've talked about for the last two years!"

"I know, I know…but my advisor told me about a scholarship to a university in England. A scholarship for English majors, Tim! It would be awesome if I got that! England!!"

"Yeah, it would be," Tim said, forcing a smile. He'd always assumed that Sarah really would be going to college in Washington. It was hard to think of this not happening.

And a part of him knew that her sudden decision was based in a small part, on a dislike of Erin.

- - - - -

They went house hunting. Both of them lived in apartments that were really too small for one person with a growing book collection; two people would never fit. A baby, if added, would have to sleep in the hallway. With monetary help from Tim's parents and Erin's Uncle Jack, they found a small fixer-up house in Virginia that would suit them.

Kate helped Erin organize the wedding, since Erin had no mother or aunt to do so. Tim was suitably appalled by all the details that went into even a small wedding, and was completely willing to stay out of the way when the women asked him to. The task they gave him was to show up at the wedding. Tony, they roped into seeing that Tim did so, and did so suitably dressed.

It would be a small, quiet wedding. Neither Tim nor Erin had large numbers of friends, and there was also the cost to think of. Every dollar spent on the wedding was a dollar they'd wish they had when the baby was born. Babies, they'd already read, cost a lot to maintain. The budget Erin worked out eliminated almost out eating out, entertainment, and most new clothes. Library cards would have to substitute for book store purchases, and both of their clunking cars would have to last longer.

Uncle Jack was unable to get away from his business for the wedding--though he did do a video call to them to wish them well. His gift to them was a honeymoon in the Bahamas, at a property he owned there—in the honeymoon suite, and first-class airfare.

A week after the wedding, just as Tim and Erin had returned from the Bahamas, Kate was dead.

Tim and Erin were numb. Erin cried non-stop for having lost one of the best female friends she'd ever had. She clung to Tim daily, and begged him to be careful at work—for her sake, and the baby's.

- - - - -

A new woman was assigned to the team about a month after Kate was killed. Her name was Ziva David and she was Israeli; a Mossad officer on a liaison program. She seemed a little standoffish to the team, but on her first day, a smile crossed her face when she saw the wedding photo of Tim and Erin on his desk. "Your wife?"

"Yes. Erin's her name."

"Aaron? But that is a man's name, yes?"

Tim smiled. "No, it's spelled E-R-I-N."

"Ah! She is from Ireland, then. Does she speak Gaelic?"

"Ah, no. And she was born in Kansas. 'Erin' isn't an uncommon name for a woman."

"I see. I apologize. I have so much to learn about your culture, Agent McGee. Have you any children?"

"We're expecting our first in early December."

"You must let me babysit sometimes."

"We'll do that," Tim grinned. Maybe here would be a friend who could take Kate's place in Erin's heart.

- - - - -

Scott Rohan McGee was born a little prematurely on November 28; weighing in at 7 lbs. 2 oz. He had no hair to speak of and a lusty yell. His proud parents loved him right from the start. Not content with just seeing pictures, Tim's coworkers demanded that the baby be presented before NCIS at the earliest opportunity.

One mild, sunny day found Erin, still on maternity leave from her job with the DoD, coming to NCIS with a stroller and a small baby inside. Little Scott was a hit with everyone who crossed his path; Ziva, the new Director, Jenny Shepard, and her secretary, Cynthia, all spent a lot of time cuddling the babe, who was pleased to soak up the attention. Even Gibbs got to snuggle with the child, amazing most of the group with his skill at it.

- - - - -

Within seven months of Scott's birth, Erin was pregnant again. "It takes two to tango, Timothy McGee," she said, waggling a finger at him. He was pleased, of course, though they were just getting used to having Scott sleep through the night. Their budget was tight, though, and he worried what having another child would do to it. _There must be some way I can make more money…_

He'd always wanted to be a writer. Maybe, just maybe, he could write some mystery novels like those he loved to read. An extra 20,000 a year would do wonders for their budget.

"No, Tim. You can't buy a typewriter," Erin said when he broached the subject. "We can't afford it." Scott fussed on her shoulder, having a little cold.

"Sometimes you need to spend money to make money," Tim pressed. "I can be a writer, I know I can. And that could help us out greatly."

"I agree. But you don't need a typewriter to write, Tim. You have a computer. More than one." She looked at his geek collection wryly. "Almost all writers write on computers nowadays. Join the 21st century."

"It's not the same," he groused, while knowing he couldn't win. A couple hundred dollars for a lovely manual typewriter was an unrealistic luxury when he could do the work on the computer. _But it won't be the same. It won't be like the hard-boiled writers of old churning out novels and pulps…_

A baby in a household is a center of attention, and so Tim found writing time scarce. Not only that, but when it came to writing his crime novel, he found characterization hard. Every time he tried to delve into the minds of his LE agency characters, something at home interrupted him. But finally his novel was finished, and he sent it off to the first publisher on the list he'd compiled.

The rejection slips came in thick and fast. The tenth one was a godsend, in a way. That editor had actually taken the time to give good criticism. He read his note over and over.

_I can tell you know your law enforcement. Good! That may help you down the road. But your characters don't jump off the page the way they should. I get the feeling something's holding you back. Distractions? Are you a family man with young children running around? I hear that often from new, young writers. My suggestion is: write what you know; what you see in front of you every day. Write about being a husband, a father. There's always a market for people who write about what they know. If you decide to go that route, contact me. I know people who are looking for material like that._

_Write what I know??_ Tim was first angry. Law enforcement _was_ what he knew! Still, he had to admit that maybe he should try something different.

Neil Eamon McGee was born on March 30, the day that Tim received notice that his light-hearted novel, _The Cop Father_, was going to be published. A check for 20,000, an advance on the final copy, would come as soon as he returned the contract.

Writer Tim McGee was on his way.


	2. Chapter 2

_Love has no desire but to fulfill itself._ -- Kahlil Gibran

**Chapter Two**

Tim gleefully shared the news of his book contract with his coworkers. More than a little curious about what a geek would have to say in a novel, they pounced on the galleys when they came out. It was a sweet little book; full of homilies and pratfalls. Cop Father was despairing as son number one outran him in the house while son number two was primed for eating, crying and growing like a weed. Beatific Mom watched over the chaos with a serene smile. The publisher had already called to say that advance orders were through the roof! Women in particular adored cozy novels like this. Although the book would be published under a pen name—this editor historically suggested his writers reverse their initials, and so Tim McGee became Magnus Trotsky—the editor suggested that Tim get an unlisted phone number. Fans could be too adoring. Tony and Ziva, neither of them parents, read the galleys and laughed, but not cruelly; Gibbs was seen to read, without comment, but with a smile.

There were bits of Tim in the Cop Father character, to be sure, but only traces of Erin in Mom. The babies were just wild, overly-intelligent, fun-loving babies who could be anyone's kids. It was easy to like a book when you weren't connected to the characters.

Abby was one of the last to read a galley, and she started out with misgivings. While she knew that Tim was more than willing to have Cop Father be the brunt of the jokes, she wondered about Mom. The character was almost too good to be true. Yes, Tim had put Abby on a pedestal while they were dating, but she had chalked that up to Midwestern gallantry. Did he really still do that with Erin? Abby didn't know, for their paths rarely crossed.

- - - - -

Sarah, Tim's kid sister, was now enrolled at a prestigious university in England where she was thriving: head of her class, and a social animal to boot. She still intended to major in English lit, but so many side subjects were drawing her attention: drama, art, political science, history. She had a rich boyfriend, she said, and kept genuinely busy—too busy to come home even on Christmas break. Tim and his parents worried, and hoped this was just a teenage thing.

But she had had little contact with Tim since his wedding. He emailed frequently; she answered perhaps one email in ten, then one in twenty. Eventually Tim stopped emailing her so frequently, although he did sometimes send her photos of the boys. She didn't acknowledge the photos.

Near the end of her first year, Tim's mother called him to say that Sarah and her boyfriend, whose name was only given as Hiram, had quit university and had gone to Africa to help refugees. "Do you want me to go there and knock, er, talk some sense into her?" Tim asked, while figuring the bank account in his head. _Do we have enough for a plane ticket for me?_

He sensed Cleo hesitating before she answered. "Thanks, dear, but no. We're going to wait a week or two and then your father will go. She's always listened to him. Almost always."

Tim blushed, and was glad that his mother couldn't see that. Sarah _had_ always listened to Tim…_if_ she wanted to. She had a wild side; something no one would ever accuse him of having. "Did she say _why_ she's given up her comfortable life?"

"It sounded all jumbled and coerced, Tim. Rambling about too many babies in the world; not enough birth control; not enough food; too great a spread between the rich and the poor. She and Hiram were going to alleviate that."

"He's rich. Why doesn't he just write a check?!"

Tim talked this over later with Erin. "Maybe she feels guilty, Tim," Erin said. "She came from a good, sheltered life. She's learning that the sun doesn't revolve around her. If she's helping babies…" She put Neil down in the crib. "…maybe she now regrets that she hasn't gotten to know Scott and Neil better."

"She hasn't gotten to know them at all," Tim said sourly. "She's never come to see them."

"Well, she doesn't know what she's missing. Or maybe she does, now, and doesn't know how to get back into her family's arms."

"Maybe," said Tim, but he sounded unconvinced.

Tim's father, Kale, went to Africa and came back, shaking his head. "I think she's safe, and her Hiram seems to be all right, if a bit of a dreamer. Apparently his family dotes on him and just wants to see him happy. They send him money periodically, no matter what cause he's involved in. We'll just have to give her space, and keep telling her we love her."

- - - - -

By the time _The Cop Father_ hit the stands, its advance orders had already nudged it in the direction of the best-seller lists. Tim's editor had sent him a contract for a second book, with an even larger advance. Tim aged the book's "boys" slightly, and the little imaginary family was off and happily chaos-making again.

But despite his moderate writing success, and his happy family life, his home life wasn't enough. He embraced his job as a special agent: it was exciting and had a purpose. "Anyone can father a child. _This_ is where I feel _useful_," Tim said one day at NCIS, in an unmindful moment.

Gibbs gave him a cold look. "Fathering a child is easy. _Being_ a father—that takes work."

Tim grimaced and turned away. Yes, Gibbs was right. But still, in the years before he married, his job as a special agent had offered plenty of fulfillment. Erin understood, or said she understood, the occasional late hours he had to put in. And he did love his wife and sons. But it was at work where the great challenges of the day came; the variety, the black humor, the grit, the danger, the thrills. Sometimes weekends at home were hard to take. With Scott two now, he felt his old, bachelor days were swiftly fading into the past. He rarely took a sick day; NCIS was just too much a part of his life, too much an intoxicant, for him to stay away.

Nonetheless, rosy days don't last forever. Tim entered a period of faint dissatisfaction at work. The Director was becoming obsessed in her hunt for the criminal, Le Grenouille, and this showed in her temper. The number of new cases dipped for awhile, and the cold cases they worked on ranged from the merely dreary to the impossible.

Two cases nagged at Tim and wouldn't let him go: One, a case with a young female Marine found strangled four years ago, and the killer never identified; the second, a retired petty officer who was shot to death in the same year. Tim had a gut feeling that the two cases were connected, but there seemed to be nothing to link them. He followed leads into dead ends; new leads into more dead ends. Then the team got new cases, and the cold cases were put back in the vault for awhile, to be brought out again in the next slow period.

- - - - -

Time passed. His team continued to delight in seeing Erin and the boys when she brought them by NCIS; Tim was always an appropriately-proud papa. Neil liked to demonstrate how well he could crawl around the desks; Scott, now 3 and adventurous, once made it into the elevator by himself when no one was looking. Abby had summoned the elevator, and was surprised when the doors opened to find a pint-sized McGeester grinning up at her. He bolted past her and took refuge in the lab, where, despite her initial misgivings, they had a good time playing hide-and-go-seek until she decided to call upstairs.

She was holding him and smiling when Tim and Erin raced out of the elevator for him. "Mommy, you should get a spiderweb on your neck like she gots," Scott said cheerfully.

Erin turned gray. "Oh, I really don't think so, dear," she said, while Tim stifled a laugh and Abby winked at him. At last, there might be a slight thaw in the Abby-Tim relationship.

Though the McGees often entertained Tim's coworkers at home, Abby had never come. She was always invited by Tim, but always had an excuse. Suddenly, one Friday night she came, brought over by Ducky. She was nervous around Erin and didn't meet her eyes often, and mostly sat by herself, quietly. But when Scott made a typical toddler's appearance requesting a glass of water, it was Abby who got up to get it, and to sit with him in the kitchen, talking, while he drank it, stalled some more, and asked for another glass of water.

Abby would have gotten him one, but Ziva came in then and shooed him back to bed. "Have him drink a lot and he may not make it to the bathroom in time," she scolded Abby lightly.

"Oh. I didn't think of that," said Abby, flushing.

"It is no, uh, big deal," said Ziva. "It is just one of the things you learn about small children. Come, I told Erin I would see Scott back to bed."

Wordlessly, Abby followed Ziva and Scott to his bedroom on the second floor. She knew that Ziva often babysat for the McGees, and that she loved children. Abby had always thought she herself had no maternal instincts; that she was incapable of caring for anything more complicated than a puppy. But Scott's sweetness and curiosity touched something in her. Tim, certainly, seemed to have the most fulfilling life of anyone she knew. _He's earned it_, she thought, watching while Ziva tucked Scott in and gave him a good-night kiss. _Ew! Kiss a face that's probably all little-boy sticky??_ Ziva, though, didn't seem to notice, and Scott clearly adored her.

- - - - -

The phone rang one evening at the McGees'. It was Tim's mother. Sarah had phoned them from New York; she was waiting for her connection to Chicago and then on to Fargo. It seemed she and Hiram had been thrown out of their country in Africa; accused of baby-smuggling. Sarah insisted the charges were false, but appeared to be scared to death, Cleo McGee reported. Apparently Sarah would be in a jail back there now, as would Hiram, if Hiram's father hadn't made a large bribe.

"_Was_ she smuggling babies out?" asked Tim. It sounded like one of Sarah's dream world schemes, if she thought this was for a noble cause.

"I don't know," Cleo sighed. "Maybe. Probably. We'll have to wait to see what she says when she gets here."

"I'll come out there," said Tim, and then added, "if she's willing to see me."

"Of course she'll want to see you!" said Cleo. "You're her brother!"

But Tim waited a week, then two, and finally admitted to himself that Sarah wasn't going to call. He emailed his parents and asked them to tell Sarah that he wished her well. He wasn't going to email her himself. A month later, he heard that she'd cut her hair short, dyed it red, and was enrolling in a college at San Diego. She'd be studying world affairs with a minor in agriculture, and learning languages on the side. She was determined once again to save the world, but this time it would come once she'd finished her studies and grown up some. Tim smiled.

- - - - -

A lead actually blossomed on one of the cold cases one summer day. Unfortunately, it wasn't a pleasing blossom. An anonymous note arrived in the mail warning Tim to back off the case. Tests performed on the note were inconclusive, but at least the case was thawing. Or so Tim hoped.

He came home on a Friday night to the smell of a roast cooking. Delightful. As always, the first thing he did was empty the clip in his sig, and put both the gun and the ammunition in a drawer, which he locked. He had to take the gun home; this was a job requirement. But, having children at home, he didn't have to like it.

"You should go to Fargo," Erin said to him, without preamble.

Tim shook his head. "There's no point. Sarah hasn't said she wants to see me, and we can't afford it."

"I think we can," said Erin, who managed the household finances. "In fact, there's enough money for two. I think you should go and you should take Scott. Everyone who meets him falls in love with him. It might help you reconnect with her."

He kissed her. "I love you. Will you marry me?"

She laughed, and kissed him back. "Sorry. I'm already married."

"Mmmm. Lucky guy."

"Yes, he is."

"I'll talk to Gibbs tomorrow; see about getting some time off."

- - - - -

On the next day, Saturday, the team was scheduled to work starting at 1 p.m. in an odd experiment with the weekend schedule. Tim went in in the morning anyway to get some paperwork done. The plan was that Erin and the kids would join him for lunch, as would Ziva, Tony & Gibbs.

The new Italian restaurant on M Street at 7th was a hit. The kids gorged on spaghetti while the adults ate more refined foods, laughed, and swapped tall tales. Eventually, though, it was time to get back to work, and for Erin to take the boys home for naps.

As usual, Erin was parked in the large open lot next to the river in the Navy Yard. Because she still worked for the Department of Defense, the DOD sticker on her car allowed her in with the most minimal of inspections. She bundled the boys into their car seats, kissed Tim and waved goodbye to everyone. The others turned back for NCIS; they had only about two minutes to get to work on time.

Erin started her car, and the force of the blast threw Tim and the others to the ground. The car was a fireball.

"No! No! No! No! _NO!!"_ Tim struggled, but Tony and Ziva held him back.

"_McGee!_ You can't do anything!!" said Gibbs.

He could only do what the others were doing: cry.


	3. Chapter 3

_Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough._ -- George Moore

**Chapter Three**

Two days after the funeral, Tony looked up when the elevator dinged, signaling its arrival at the squad room. "Pro—Tim?! What are you doing here??"

Ziva and Tony flocked to their teammate, dressed neatly in a suit coat and tie, his face and eyes still saturated with pain. "Where's Gibbs?" Tim asked with a gulp, grateful for their embraces. "I need to—"

"What do you need, McGee?" Gibbs said softly, coming into view. "I didn't expect you back this soon."

"I—I'm not back, boss. I need more time off. A month or so, I think. I figured I'd have to sign something extra to get that much time…"

Gibbs nodded. "And the Director needs to approve it, though I can't imagine that she wouldn't do it. Come on, let's go see her."

Minutes later they were seated in Jenny's office. "Of course you can take the time off, Tim," Jenny said. "Take all that you need. Do you have enough annual leave time to cover it?"

"Er, no, Director. I have 79 hours. I'll need to go for leave without pay for the rest, if that's okay."

"You still have 24 hours of your sick leave that you can use under the Family Friendly Leave Act," said Gibbs. "Why not use that?"

"Yeah, okay, thanks," Tim said numbly. After the last few years of squandering hours so they'd be available to deal with a sick child or something dealing with his family, suddenly…his hours were all his own again. His, and he was alone.

"What do you plan to do, Tim?" asked Jenny.

"My parents…they've asked me to come stay with them for awhile. Back home."

"That sounds good, Tim. Stay in touch, and let us know if we can do anything for you."

Back in the squad room, Tim looked at his desk to see if there was anything he wanted to take with him. He couldn't think of anything. He didn't know what to do with the wedding photo on his desk, so he only touched it, tenderly, and left it there. _Will I want to see it when I come back? Will I be mad at myself if I put it in a drawer now?_ These last few horrible days, he'd been content to let others make his decisions for him. Now his parents had returned home, his teammates were working, and Tim felt unable to move.

"When does it stop, boss?" Tim asked Gibbs. "The hurting?"

Gibbs looked at him, knowing so well what Tim was going through. "You don't want it to stop, entirely, Tim. You don't want to lose all of the anger you're feeling now toward the SOB who did this. In time, though, the hurting will lessen…and the love will come forward. And then you'll have that, always."

Tim left then, after farewell hugs from Tony and Ziva. They searched his eyes, silently imploring him to come back to NCIS, when he was ready. It also dimly registered in his mind that they were calling him 'Tim', but he didn't comment. He couldn't find the words. All he knew was that he was broken, and somehow needed to heal. The alternative was to give up, and he couldn't…that was no way to honor Erin, Scott and Neil.

- - - - -

Arriving in Fargo the next day, he was met at the airport by his mother. After a long hug, Tim said, "Where's Dad?"

"Kale is taking Sarah shopping," said Cleo, her eyes on the luggage carousel, looking for Tim's suitcases. "She needs clothes more suitable for San Diego weather, and he wasn't about to just hand over his credit card. Not with her recent track record."

Tim sighed. "She's leaving soon? She doesn't want to see me." Cleo didn't answer, and Tim knew he'd guessed right.

His sister and father had just arrived home when Tim and his mother arrived. Tim and his father embraced. From the corner of his eye he saw a young woman with short, red, spiky hair reading a book and ignoring them. "I want to get a cold pop," Tim murmured, and headed for the fridge.

He was sitting at the kitchen table alone, drinking a Diet Coke, when to his surprise Sarah came in and sat down across from him. "Tim? I—I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" he snapped. "You couldn't be bothered to come to the funeral because you had tickets for a _concert_!"

"I know. That was so shallow of me. You must hate me, and I totally earned that. But I was sitting here alone for a couple of days while mom and dad were in D.C. with you, and I thought a lot. All because Erin wasn't Abby, I was so mad at you. And her. And the babies she had, my nephews, whom I never saw and now never will…" She broke down then, and clung to Tim when he held her.

- - - - -

His days were mostly spent in the countryside, his father's pickup pulled off the road. He would sit on the truck's hood, or in the grass at the road's edge, North Dakota was a mass of sunflower fields; that being one of the state's largest cash crops. The yellow and brown flowers bobbed in the slight July breeze.

This was the sight he'd known and loved since his family had moved to North Dakota from Oklahoma when he was around 12. Peaceful, yet full of life energy. _How much effort a plant puts into growing_, Tim remembered having thought long ago. Now, he was back home, hoping to borrow some of the strength he used to take from the land.

The weather was beautiful: sunny, not too hot, and the rains were holding off until after dark most days. Still Tim was unsatisfied. Under the enormous bowl of prairie sky, where the horizon stretched off almost to infinity, he tried to find an echo of what was in his heart, and couldn't. The land was saying the same things it had been when he was a boy, and probably for eons before that.

Most nights he spent in his parents' house, but some nights he had to get out of there, too. One night he stretched out on the hood, watching the sky darken at 10 p.m. A few cumulus clouds drifted slowly overhead. One enormous one with a gray bottom had lightening flash in its bowels now and then, a sight odd and wonderful, and yet still so natural.

He knew, soon after that, why he wasn't getting the answers from the land. It was because he wasn't asking the right questions. So at last he asked, in his mind, _Where do I go from here?_ The answer reverberated in him almost immediately. _You go on living and live a long, full life._

Didn't the land care? Is this all that life had to say to him? He watched a hawk soar in circles before diving for a mouse. And then it sunk in: _Life, the planet, the cosmos doesn't revolve around me. I'm just a speck. There are probably millions of other tragedies happening this moment around the globe. And here I was critical of Sarah for wanting to help desperate people in Africa…_

Erin, Scott and Neil, the three people who had owned the largest part of his heart, were dead. They weren't coming back. He could mourn them, and he would, but the fact that he was still alive meant that he had to accept that he, too, was part of the living world…and that his role was to go on living. He would cherish his wife and babies forever, but he would go on.

He drove to the brick ranch-style house, through neighborhoods where the scent of barbecues cooking supper came at him from all directions. Mom had promised bratwurst and corn on the cob tonight. He hugged her when he came in, as he always did. "I've been here 28 days," he said. "It's time for me to go home."

- - - - -

He walked into NCIS two days later, receiving hugs again from his teammates, and a pat on the back from Gibbs. It was just like he'd never left…although he knew that at the end of the day he'd be going back to an empty house.

His wish of their getting a new case so he could keep his mind off things wasn't granted. In the late morning, seeing Tim's mind wander yet again, Gibbs sent him down to Abby to get test results for an old case.

"Tim!! I heard you were coming back today!" Abby came at him and hugged him tightly, but let him go fairly quickly. "I'm so sorry, still. I did send you a couple of emails, didn't you get them?"

Smiling ruefully, he said, "I didn't look at any email for a couple of weeks. I—I didn't want to do much of anything that took effort."

She nodded. "And you probably didn't want to see anything that reminded you of Washington. Good news or not."

"Yeah. You guys got a hot lead on the guys that did it. I read that email just a few days ago."

"You'll have to ask your team for the details. I only did my bit."

"Thanks. I mean it. Thanks."

She dismissed that with a wave. "Are you okay, Tim? Do you need anything? Your friends here want to help, if you'll let us."

"Well, if you really want to…"

"Yes! I do! _We_ do!"

"I've decided to sell the house and move back into an apartment. I don't need all that space anymore, and can't afford it. If you guys can help me pack…"

"Just tell us when. We'll be there." She held his hands and gazed into his grass-green eyes, feeling so glad that this person she had once considered her best friend was back. She had been afraid that he'd stay on in North Dakota, way out there in upper Midwest, an area as strange and unfathomable to her as Mars. But here he was. Maybe they could be best friends again.

- - - - -

Tim was forbidden from having any connection to the case involving the car bombing, though the rest of his team put every spare minute in it. "We're going to get that bastard, Tim," Tony assured him. "I've never wanted to nail a piece of crap as much as I want him."

And they did, within a month. It turned out to be the brother of the landlord whom Erin had seen, five years ago, strangling a sailor. The brother had also been a small-time criminal who in the heat of the moment killed the young female Marine, and then in a botched robbery, killed the old petty officer. It wasn't until Tim started poking at the cold cases that the brother had felt the law closing in on him. He'd killed another person or two along the way, and when Tim had shrugged off the threatening notes, he'd upped the threats with a car bomb. He hadn't realized that this would only make an agent angrier.

All of NCIS sighed with relief when the perp decided to plead guilty. He might get a life sentence. There was always the risk that something would fall apart with a trial, and Tim's friends silently thought reliving everything at a trial might crush him.

- - - - -

The packing session at Tim's house was an all-day affair, despite the fact that Tim and Erin had been orderly people. Tim was looking for a small apartment, probably not much larger than his old one in the Silver Spring brownhouse had been. He threw away or gave away most of their possessions, including Erin's and the boys' clothes, trinkets and toys. Jimmy quietly took a lot from the 'throw away' pile, and in a month presented Tim with a substantial check; the proceeds from the eBay sales.

Pictures, Tim saved. He was at the point of being able to look at them again—not for long, but for a little while. When he put the framed pictures in packing boxes, he already looked forward to unpacking them at his new place. And there were hundreds on his computer, as well. He could glimpse his little family any time he wanted to, and his heart would warm again.

- - - - -

He found himself crossing paths with Abby more and more often, by some benevolent design of nature. She was the good sounding board she had once been when they were close, years ago. They started having lunch together frequently. Four months after the car bombing, they took in a movie together, then some dinners, shows, and concerts.

At first Tim was reluctant to say anything about these dates—as he now admitted to himself they were—to his team, but he should have known that they would notice. "You deserve happiness, Tim," said Ziva. "The past is past. Look to the future." Tony smiled and nodded. Tim felt more at ease. He would always love Erin, but he couldn't tie himself to her forever.

On his third night at Abby's, Tim pulled back from her kisses, and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. "I'm getting a vasectomy," he told her. "I can't—I can't bear the thought of bringing another baby into the world, only to have him or her die because of me."

"Tim!" Abby sat up. "You listen to me! _You_ didn't cause their deaths. That brother of the manager did!"

"I know, but—"

"People have been dying too young for a long time. You know when I was a kid and heard in class that in such-and-such an old era that people only lived to be 40 or so, I thought how weird that was—to never get to be a grandparent, maybe. And years after than I learned that some people lived to a ripe old age just like they do now. It's just that the mortality rate for children was so much higher that it skewed the statistics.

"You can't say you're not going to have children just because they might face danger. _All_ of us face danger, every day. As an agent, you're much more likely to be in danger than your kids would be. Life is precious; life is a gift. Don't throw away that chance to love again, Tim. Think about what I say…that's all I ask."

Tears still burned in his eyes, but he had to admit, she made a lot of sense. She usually did. And right now, he was the beacon in his life, one of the helping things that were keeping him going every day. _Am I grasping for her on the rebound?_ he asked himself. _I don't think so…_

- - - - -

"No, Tim; I don't see anything wrong with it," his father said with definite enthusiasm a week later on the phone. "You've thought this over, I can tell."

"Have you set a date?" his mother, on the extension, asked eagerly.

"Mom, I haven't even proposed yet," Tim laughed, then sobered. "I don't want people thinking I'm dishonoring Erin. You're sure people won't think it strange? Isn't there like a customary one-year waiting period before remarriage?"

"In some circles," said Kale. "But that's not so much true anymore. Besides, they say that a man who remarries in under a year does so because he'd had so happy a marriage that he can't stand being single any longer than he has to be."

"We know how you loved Erin, Tim," said Cleo. "We loved her, too. But she's gone, and you have a chance to love again. Take it."

- - - - -

It was down in Abby's lab a week later that Tim handed her Bert the hippo. "I think Bert has something for you. In his mouth," Tim said shyly.

Abby took the paper from Bert and read it out loud. "_Look in the top right drawer closest to master mass spectrometer._ Why, that's amazing! I never knew Bert could write in English. Or at all. No opposable thumbs, you know."

"Bert's quite a guy," Tim grinned, and watched her go to the drawer.

She pulled out the small velvet box and gasped at the beautiful ring inside; a diamond flanked by black pearls. "Oh, _Timmy_…" Throwing her arms around him, she said, "Well? Aren't you going to ask me?"

"How do you feel about having children?" he said, slyly.

"_Yes_!" she responded, not quite logically. "Timothy McGee, will you marry me?"

"Pick a Saturday, and make sure Tony reminds me to show up," he said, and leaned in for the kissing.


	4. Chapter 4

_Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction._ -- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

**Chapter Four**

_Seventeen years later…_

"Look at this, Little Mom! This is soooo cool!!" Miles McGee leaned over the back of the easy chair in which Abby sat, his long frame bending, as he thrust a web printout under her nose.

Abby McGee smiled benevolently up at her older son, loving him despite the, bright, burgundy hair. Why he'd ever dyed his lovely dark auburn locks she'd never understand. "Nice tats," she agreed. "I particularly like the dragon with the spear. But no, you can't get one. You have to be 18 in this state to be tattooed."

"So does that mean I can go to another state, Little Mom?" he wheedled, with a grin.

He called her 'Little Mom' because at 16 years of age and a height of 6' 4", he towered over her. "No," said Abby, firmly. "As your father and I have told you, the Navy long ago stopped welcoming sailors with lots of tats. If you still want to go into the Navy, hold off on getting tats until you're out."

"I do want to join the Navy, more than ever!" Miles danced. He always had plenty of energy to burn off. "How about it, Gus? You going to join the Navy with me?"

His brother, 14, looked up from his computer and grinned, running a hand through his sandy hair. "Maybe. I dunno. If I could get a science-based job, sure, why not?"

"You have plenty of time to decide," Abby said lovingly. "Just because your brother has had his life mapped out for a couple of years doesn't mean you have to, too. Oh, there's your father."

"Good! We can eat!" Miles sprang up. "Hi, Dad! Welcome home! Swing me?" he asked, mischievously.

Tim McGee laughed. Miles had his mother's insouciant sense of humor. "Swing you? Miles, you started to be too big to swing when you were _five_!"

"You don't know that unless you try."

"I know that if I pull the pin off a grenade, it'll likely go off."

"Aw…"

"Miles wants to get a tat, Dad," Gus winked at his brother.

"I think Miles has wanted a tat since he was 2. The answer is still no."

"Aw, c'mon, Dad; just a small one? Didn't I hear Tony say that to impress Mom, you got one on your—"

Abby cleared her throat. "Dinner is served." She might have been a tad unconventional, even wild, before she got married, but she was determined to bring her boys up right. And she and Tim had. The well-mannered boys were a delight: loving, happy, respectful, and were even each other's best friends, despite different interests.

"I was an adult then," said Tim. "You have a lot more school ahead of you, Miles. You're sure you still want to go through with your plan?"

"Oh, yeah, Dad! Nothing's changed. I finish high school June of next year. Then I'm off for MIT, where I'll major in…well, I haven't exactly figured that out yet! Criminal justice with a psych minor, maybe." Miles was bright, but he didn't have the vision when it came to computers that his father and brother did. "Then I'm doing four years in the Navy as a commissioned officer. I know, I know, I don't _have_ to, but I _want_ to. I think it'll give me a better perspective when I get into my _real_ job, as a special agent at NCIS."

"I wish I knew what I want to do," Gus sighed. "Something science! But I don't know what. I love _everything_ science. Why do I have to specialize??"

"Because you can't learn everything," said Abby. "Gus, if you want to be a forensic scientist like me, you'll certainly want chemistry, and some classes in other sciences, too."

"You have to get tats like Mom," Miles teased.

"Nope," said Gus. "_So_ not me."

"Then don't get them, August," said Tim. "Pass the mashed potatoes, please."

- - - - -

Abby came into the bedroom while Tim was taking off his sports coat and tie after dinner. Although they didn't complain in his hearing, he knew that his growing sons were usually ravenous by the time he got home from work, which was often not until after 7, so he insisted that they not wait dinner on him while he dressed down.

Abby put her arms around Tim's waist from behind, and rested her head on his back, enjoying his scent. "You got a letter from your editor."

"Good old Tobey! Not still trying to get me to write another _Cop Father_, I hope?" Tim had abandoned that series after the car bombing, even refusing a movie option. Cop Father, and its author, Magnus Trotsky, had retired into the sunset.

But it was Abby, less than a year after they married, who asked Tim if he missed writing. He'd admitted he did but insisted that he would never again write about his family. He'd looked at her large, swelling belly, and then at her eyes_._

"_You told me, years ago, that you wanted to write about crime, about more of your experiences as an agent," she had persisted. "Why not do that?"_

"_Because I couldn't sell the book._ Deep Six _was rejected by 13 publishers."_

"_And one said it was because the characters lacked depth. Try rewriting them, one at a time, and see what happens. Come on, Tim! You've had two books published! Surely you know more now about writing than you did back then!"_

_He did, though he was afraid that original characters were still not his strong suit. "Abby," he had said, cautiously, "I think I could do better if I tried writing as the early writers did. On a manual typewriter. Do you think it would be alright if I bought one?"_

"_Sure, Tim," she said. "We're not hurting for money, even with the baby coming." It was true; Abby drew a good salary, and Tim was at a significantly higher pay scale than when he'd married Erin._

_And so Tim finally got his typewriter and wrote. He proudly, again, showed his teammates the galleys when they came out. It only took about six months for them to forgive him for thinly disguising them in his book._

Abby opened the letter; Tim never minded her doing that. They were a team. "No, no Cop Father. He wants you to go on a book tour for your sixth novel, Mr. Thom E. Gemcity."

"The answer's the same as before. 'No'. Thom E. Gemcity makes few public appearances. He's secretly a family man." Tim smiled and kissed his wife, his center of joy. His only surprise, after 17 years of marriage, was that she loved him so much. _Could anyone be happier than I am?_ He continued to smile as Abby handed him another letter that had come that day.

- - - - -

In the living room, the boys were on two computers when Tim and Abby returned. "Mom, Dad, settle an argument," said Miles. "Gus doesn't believe that my name means 'soldier'."

"It does, Gus," said Tim, ruffling the younger boy's hair. "It's Latin, although some sources say it's Germanic, meaning 'peaceful'. We've told you boys this before."

"But it sounds like an Army name," Miles complained, but with a twinkle in his eye. "Why not a Navy name?"

"Because you father wouldn't let me name you 'Jack Tar'," said Abby, and both boys hooted. They never grew tired of the joke.

" 'Miles' is a good name," Tim insisted. "What are you doing there, Gus?"

"Morphing," said Gus. "It's been six months since I last did it. I wanted to see what they'd look like now."

They clustered around Gus' computer and gazed at the pictures of the young men. "You don't mind, do you, Dad?" Miles asked softly, kindly. "It helps us feel closer to them. Our brothers."

The pictures projected what Scott and Neil might look like now, had they lived. The science behind the software was now very good, so there was little doubt that this was how they would have turned out. 

Brown-haired Scott, 21 here, was smiling winningly, his blue eyes bright. Gus had put him in a Navy uniform, although he, too, would have been encouraged to finish college first. Neil, 19, had a mischievous grin and wore glasses over laughing green eyes. His hair was dark and a bit unruly.

"You don't have to keep doing this," Tim said. "They're dead. Long dead."

"They're still our brothers," said Gus. "I wish we'd known them."

"I wish you had, too," said Abby. "They were great kids."

"You got through it, Dad," said Miles. "when Erin, Scott and Neil died. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you. But you found the courage to go on. You married Mom. You produced us. And you went on to become Director of NCIS. That's courage. You're my hero, Dad."

"Ah, when did you two get to be so wise?" Abby said, hugging both her sons. "Both so very wise, and yet unable to pick up your dirty socks."

Tim was beaming. He loved his family. Clearing his throat, he said, "Miles, a letter came today from MIT. How would you like to start there this fall? You'd be only 16, still…"

Miles nearly broke Tim's ribs with his hug. "I'd like! I'd like!"

- END -


End file.
